


who you are

by pristinbian



Category: PRISTIN (Band), SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Band Fic, F/F, Love Triangles, Recreational Drug Use, Sexuality Crisis, lots of 20-something angst, more tags will be added as the story goes on yaaay, rest of pristin and other idols and svt members are there too
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-28
Updated: 2019-08-01
Packaged: 2020-05-28 09:02:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 13,539
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19390873
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pristinbian/pseuds/pristinbian
Summary: (i feel the earth move, in your eyesi get excited by your side)in which minkyung is an art student with a lot of problems and not many solutions and yaebin is the vocalist for a punk band just looking for someone to care about her





	1. patience

**Author's Note:**

> this is a bit of a spiritual successor to a previous fic (i call it love) but its a lot more angsty and weird and realisitc (? i guess)  
> idk  
> i miss pristin and im sad  
> set in some sort of vague city in america idk dont think too hard about it

“Minkyung, I think you need to get out more.” 

Kim Minkyung glances up, slightly removing her face from its place buried in her dampened pillow, to see her roommate Kyungwon standing over her. 

“I’m fine.” She barely manages to mumble, wiping snot from her nose with one hand.

“Just because you had one bad critique doesn’t mean your life is ruined forever. Get up and stop crying.” Kyungwon throws a dirty sock in Minkyung’s direction, and it hits her shoulder.

“It wasn’t just a bad critique.” Minkyung sniffles. “It was horrible. I was destroyed.”

Kyungwon doesn’t even try to justify herself or battle with a response. Everyone already knows Minkyung had a bad critique. But everyone in art school has a bad critique. If anything, it was a rite of passage, and it really wasn’t even that bad. She had made some flawed art and the class had pointed out its flaws. It was part of the learning process. Yet to her roommate, her perfectionist, sometimes pretentious roommate, these defenses meant nothing. To Minkyung, she had failed.

So, instead of trying to explain to her best friend that the world wasn’t ending, Kyungwon grabs onto Minkyung’s wrist and attempts to tug her out of bed.

“Let’s do something tonight.” she says. “Let’s go to a house show.”

Minkyung groans. She hates house shows. They’re always overwhelming and stinky and sweaty and they make her feel so old and out of place—always buzzing with teens looking for free booze or weed. 

“No.” she responds, flatly.

“Minky, please. We can smoke weed and get drunk and it’ll be so fun, I swear. It’s a punk show. You love those.”

“No I don’t. You do.”

Kyungwon drops Minkyung’s arm, letting it flop against the bed. 

“Please. I’m tired of trying to convince you to do things. Please. For me. I’ll fucking wash the dishes for a week. Just go outside, for once, for the love of god. It’s been a week. You need to stop moping.” 

They both let silence hang in the air of Minkyung’s room for a second.

“Fine.” Minkyung grumbles.

•••

Yaebin loves Fridays.

Who doesn’t, sure. But Yaebin has a special reason to—Fridays are the nights house shows happen.  
All through her afternoon shift, she tries not to dance with excitement.

“You look happy.” Vernon remarks from his spot behind the register. The record store is empty today—a pity, because all the new releases had just arrived.

“I’m just excited for tonight.”

“Playing a show?” Vernon leans back against the counter, resting his elbows. 

“Yeah. You wanna come?”

“I don’t know if that sort of party scene is for me. I’m too much of a normie, y’know?”

Yaebin digs into the back pocket of her jeans, pulling out a crumpled flyer. 

“There might be some cute girls there. Or boys. I don’t know what you’re into. At least come see me play.” She slides the flyer across the counter in Vernon’s direction, and he picks it up, studying the somewhat crude drawing of a screaming cartoon bunny emblazoned across it. 

“Hm. Is there drinking?”

“Lots of it.”

“Maybe I’ll see you there.”

•••

It’s 7pm, and Minkyung is already high. 

“Think of it as anxiety medication.” Kyungwon had said, handing her a joint as they walked down the stairs of their apartment building. 

It was helping, a little. 

Minkyung couldn’t stop worrying, running things over in her head. 

Your pretentiousness and narcissism really shows through your work.

That’s what Mingyu had said to her. In front of everyone, in front of the whole class. And she had cried. In front of everyone. 

Because he was right. She wasn’t cut out for this, for art school. She was a pretentious freak. 

Minkyung kicks a rock as her and Kyungwon walk down the street, the streetlamp overhead flickering. 

“Got more weed?” She asks Kyungwon.

“Still not feeling it?” Kyungwon replies with a chuckle. 

“No, I’m feeling it, a little bit. Not enough to be distracted from like,” she twirls her pointer finger in a circular motion next to her temple, “all this crazy bullshit running around in my head.” Kyungwon reaches into the pocket of her denim jacket for her joints, and puts a couple in Minkyung’s hands.

“Here’s like, three. I can tell you’re nervous.”

Minkyung gives her a weak smile as she pulls out her lighter. 

They’re approaching the house now, and a pit of anxiety starts to form in Minkyung’s stomach. People from school will be here, maybe even people who were in class with her that shitty day. Fuck. 

She inhales a cloud of smoke, tips of her fingers buzzing. This is fine. Everything is fine. 

•••

Jihyo leans through the bedroom door.

“You’re on in five.” 

“Thanks.” Yaebin responds, swallowing another gulp of beer. “God, this tastes terrible. I hate it. It’s disgusting.” She takes a second swallow, finishing off the can. “Wonwoo, can you hand me another one?”

The bassist looks up from his guitar and reaches into the cooler next to the bed he’s sitting on, throwing a can Yaebin’s way, which she catches with two hands. 

“Don’t get too drunk before we go on.”

“You don’t get it. I have to be just the right amount of drunk, you know? To be my best possible self. As like, a performer.” 

“I mean, you just have to get up there and scream. Can’t be too hard.” Eunwoo remarks snarkily, hitting her drumsticks against Nayoung’s closed guitar case at an impressive speed. 

“It’s not just screaming, asshole. I do regular singing too. It just so happens this band is a genre with a lot of screaming. Nayoung, back me up. I don’t just scream, right?”

Nayoung is busy tuning her guitar, and glances up. 

“Huh? Oh, yes. Or no. Whatever is the response you want, I said that.” 

“See, Nayoung agrees with me!” Yaebin opens her next can of beer. “I have friends coming tonight, so lets be on like, our best behavior. Or best behavior that we can be as a band centered around a genre that’s about not being on your best behavior. Whatever. You get it.”

“Some people from my school are coming.” Wonwoo says, idly thumbing at the strings of his bass. 

“Pledis College of the Arts, more like Pissy College of the Arts.” snorts Eunwoo.

“Hey. Be cool to them. They’ve never seen me play.”

“I’ll do what I want.” Eunwoo says, smirking. “Art school kids are the worst.”

“Every house show has art school kids.” Yaebin injects.

Nayoung stands up, like she can sense the playful bickering about to turn into a real argument.

“We’ve got to go out there.” she says, interrupting everyone. “Are we doing the thing?

“I hate ‘the thing’.” Eunwoo bemoans. “It’s cheesy.” She stands up anyway, and so does everyone else. The quartet walks out to the hallway, the noise of the band before them’s last song reverberating behind the walls. 

They stand in a circle, guitars slung over their backs (Eunwoo clenching her drumsticks with her teeth), and grab each other’s hands. 

“All right. I’m gonna pass the energy.” Yaebin says, and she squeezes Eunwoo’s hand, who squeezes Wonwoo’s, who squeezes Nayoung’s, who squeezes Yaebin’s other hand. It’s a stupid routine Yaebin picked up in high school theater, but it stuck with her. There’s something nice in knowing you’re about to share an experience with your friends, and that you’re all in it together.

“Let’s do this.” she says, confidence finally tickling at the base of her spine. 

•••

There’s always a point at every party where Minkyung can’t remember how many drinks she’s had. 

That’s when she knows she’s golden. 

She hasn’t been paying attention to any of the bands, they’ve all had male singers that sound the same, and so instead she’s been wandering around the house—initially to find Kyungwon, but at this point, it’s just to do something with herself.

Her roommate might have been right. She feels pretty good right now. She’s just feeling the burn on her tongue from the alcohol in her cup, and the thumping bass which may just be the sound of her heartbeat. 

She gazes at the walls of the hallway, looking at framed pictures of some couple she doesn’t know. The wallpaper seems like it’s almost melting. 

God, she’s so stoned.

Or shitface drunk.

Maybe both.

This is good. This is what she needed. 

There’s a tiny voice at the back of her head saying something, something about life, something about failure, something about how when she starts drinking she usually can’t stop, but she ignores it all, and her feet start to carry her down the hall. She sees an open bedroom door and wanders in, just wanting to sit for a while. 

Then everything comes crashing down around her. 

On the bed, just chilling on his phone, hitting his Juul like the ass he is, sits Mingyu. Mingyu, who just a few days earlier, trashed her in front of the entire class. Made her feel like shit. But, perhaps, more importantly, Mingyu was Minkyung’s ex. 

He looks up, and their eyes meet.

“Oh, hey.” He says, like it’s nothing. He hits his Juul another time, and exhales a cloud of vape fog that kind of smells like mango. “Sorry about class the other day.” 

Sorry about class? He’s sorry about class? Sorry about exposing Minkyung’s deepest and most personal flaws, in front of everyone? Exploiting her insecurities she had shared in confidence?  
“I didn’t mean to make you cry.”

“It’s nothing. I was having a bad day.” Minkyung finds herself choking out, without thinking. 

He looks really high, and she can bet she does too. This whole exchange means nothing. 

“Do you want to like…” Mingyu quirks an eyebrow. They’re alone. In a room. Together. Very inebriated. Minkyung doesn’t need the rest of the sentence to know what he means.

No, the one sober part of her brain left thinks. She’s done this before, and she knows how it ends. 

In the distance, she hears a new band start a song, and she thinks she catches the voice of a girl singing. 

“Um, actually, I was gonna go catch this band.” Minkyung manages to get out, backing out of the door. 

She rushes down the hall, and out into the main party area, her throat feeling itchy and her eyes wet, and she slumps her back against a wall as she watches whatever dumb-fuck band it is perform. 

There’s a girl up against the mic, thrashing the strings of her guitar like she means it. Her voice is throaty and deep and powerful all at the same time, and Minkyung feels like her heartstrings are getting tugged so hard she’ll fly towards the stage. She’s just high. Music’s like that high. 

There’s a crowd of shifting, moving people—all moshing and crowdsurfing and screaming. But they feel just like background noise. It’s like Minkyung is looking through a telescope—everything is blackness, but there’s a small circle of light around this girl.

I don’t need you, I don’t need you, that’s what the girl is screaming, and she tosses her hair back to get some of it out of her face as she starts to play a guitar solo that feels like Minkyung’s heart itself is being strummed by her fingers. 

Briefly, she wonders where Kyungwon is. She could tell her that she saw Mingyu. But Kyungwon doesn’t know Mingyu is the one that led the class into the metaphorical destruction of her piece. Kyungwon just thinks she had a bad critique, because she knows her roommate got tired of hearing about Mingyu the third time they got back together. 

So instead, Minkyung listens to the music, closing her eyes and knocking her head against the back of the wall.

•••

“I’m gonna go outside and cool off.” Yaebin says to Wonwoo. He gives her a little nod. He’s busy talking to some girl named Kyungwon from his school. 

Yaebin pushes her way through a few party-goers (some tapping her shoulders with a congratulatory ‘Nice set, man!’), and out the sliding doors onto Jihyo’s deck. Surprisingly, no ones out here, except a couple smokers and one girl, who’s lighting up a joint as she sits on a lawn chair.  
The cool breeze hits Yaebin’s sweaty skin, and she digs into her back pocket for a cigarette. 

Shit. She doesn’t have a lighter. 

Nervously, she walks over to the girl with the joint. 

“Hey, sorry to bother you. Do you mind if I um, use your light?”

The girl looks up in surprise. Yaebin can’t help but think about how gorgeous she is—her long dark hair frames her face perfectly. She looks like a nymph, or a mermaid. 

“Oh, of course.” Pretty Girl says, and she hands Yaebin her lighter—it’s covered in glitter tape and stickers. It’s impossible to not notice her hands either. She’s got beautiful fingers. Yebin mentally chastises herself for being a creep and just takes the light.

As she flicks the flame awake, Pretty Girl studies her. 

“Are you the girl from the um…band?” she asks.

“Oh, yeah.” Yaebin gives a sheepish grin, balancing her cigarette between two fingers. 

“You were really, really, really good.” Pretty Girl says. The two of them make eye contact, and Yaebin can swear the other girls eyes are reddened, like she’s been crying. 

“Um, thanks. Do you uh, come here often?” she says, cursing herself for her stupid line instantly. Talking to girls really isn’t Yaebin’s specialty—which is a pretty hard trait for a lesbian to have. 

“No, not really. Parties aren’t my thing, I think.” Pretty Girl looks down at the second lawn chair next to her own. “Do you want to… sit?”

Yaebin looks at her, confused.

“I’m really lonely. Please stay with me.” Pretty Girl blurts out, and now she’s actually crying. 

Hesitating for a moment, Yaebin closes the cap on her lighter. 

“I’m sorry. I’m a failure.” The girl continues. “You can go. Sorry.”

In that moment, Yaebin makes a choice that in the future, she may say ruined her life, or maybe saved it. 

She sits down next to the other girl and sticks out her hand. 

“I’m Yaebin.” she says. 

Pretty Girl looks at her with hopeful eyes.

“I’m Minkyung.”

They both pause to smoke. 

“So, Minkyung,” Yaebin says, “Are you doing ok?” 

She watches the other girl blow a stream of smoke from between her lips, nose sniffling a little. 

“I’m like… crazy crossfaded.” She holds out her joint in Yaebin’s direction. “You want some?” 

“Sure.” 

Yaebin inhales the smoke, holding it in for a few seconds, exhaling as she hands the joint back. 

“I guess I’m mad.” Minkyung says. “Or upset. I’m not sure what I am.” She pulls a leg up to her chest. “My ex-boyfriend said my art was bad.”

Yaebin tries not to wince at “ex-boyfriend”. Instead, she gives a sympathetic smile.

“That’s an asshole move.” 

“I’m not pretentious, am I?” asks Minkyung, turning her head in Yaebin’s direction. Alcohol seems to be weighing down each of her words. It’s strange—from a distance she had seemed so composed, and elegant, and now its like watching a puzzle being taken apart and entirely scrambled. 

“I’ve only known you for five minutes. I don’t think I can judge that.” Yaebin laughs, and the high finally starts vibrating in her cheeks and spreading through her body. 

“I think I should start Juuling.” Minkyung’s arms flop to her sides. “He does it, why can’t I?” 

Nothing the girl is saying makes sense to her, but Yaebin keeps staring anyway.

“I’m sorry you’re lonely.” she says, reaching behind her to snuff the cigarette on the railing of the deck.

“You have the most beautiful voice in the world. It’s like you can play my brainwaves.” Minkyung rolls over onto her side, and her hand softly touches Yaebin’s arm. “I’m sad, and I’m bad at what I do, so so bad, but when I hear your voice, it’s like traveling through space or something. Like there’s something important still existing in the world.” Her head slumps against Yaebin’s shoulder. “I am pretentious. I’m a pretentious narcissist.” 

“You’re not.” Yaebin replies. It’s hard not to feel bad for this poor girl. She’s strange, and beautiful, and Yaebin won’t lie, her face is flushed red from her strange compliments. 

“Can we kiss?” Minkyung asks. 

Yaebin’s heart stops, not in the bad way, just the stunned way, where you’re unsure if you just heard what you think you heard. 

Is it morally right to accept a kiss from a drunk, most likely straight girl?

In this moment—Minkyung’s eyes sparkling with a lonely need, it’s hard to say no.

“Ok.” Yaebin says. 


	2. paying off the happiness

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i have twitter now? follow me @pristinbian

Minkyung awakens in her own bed.

She’s not under the sheets, and she’s still in her clothes from the night before, and there’s dry drool on her cheek—but she’s in her own bed.

There’s a knock at her door, and she notices the pounding headache coming at her from behind her eyeballs. 

“Come in.” Minkyung mumbles, slowly sitting up, resisting the urge for her eyes to flutter closed and guide her back to sleep.

“Hey dummy.” Kyungwon says, stepping over a pile of dirty clothes on the floor as she makes her way in. “I made you this.”  
Her roommate hands her a glass—in it is a raw egg yolk, floating among some brownish liquid. 

“What the fuck is this supposed to be?” Minkyung asks.

“Drink it.” Kyungwon plops down on the bed.

“No. This looks poisonous.”

“It’s a hangover cure. Raw egg and Worcester sauce. And black pepper.”

“You’re kidding.”

“It’s supposed to work. They call them prairie oysters.”

Minkyung sets the glass on her windowsill.

“Most days, Kyungwon, I appreciate your fun quirky attitude. Not today, not right now. I have a headache.” 

“That’s why I brought you some Advil, too.” Kyungwon unfurls her fist, two orange pills resting on the palm of her hand.

Minkyung grabs them with a groan. 

“Glad you still have some sense of reality in you.”

“You didn’t have any sense of reality in you last night.” Kyungwon giggles, kicking her legs in the air. 

Minkyung squints her eyes as she swallows the pills dry. She honestly can’t remember much from last night. Memories vaguely pass through her brain—Mingyu, watching a band, a pretty girl—but they all are vague, disconnected, and trying to remember what happened exactly is like digging into a crate full of old photos, trying to find one specific one.

“I don’t remember much of last night.” Minkyung finally says. 

“I kissed a girl, and I liked it...” Kyungwon sings mockingly, flipping onto her stomach and resting her head in her hands.

“What!?” Minkyung exclaims. 

“Oh, yes. You were making out like your life depended on it with the hot chick from Wonwoo’s band.” 

Minkyung thinks back to the pretty girl, who among all her alcohol-addled memories, still has a face that’s perfectly clear to her, and feels blush creeping up her neck.

“You’re kidding.” She says, putting her face in her hands. 

“I saw it with my own eyes.” Kyungwon reaches into the back pocket of her jeans to pull out her phone, tapping through to find something before turning to face the screen towards Minkyung. “There.” 

It’s a picture, poorly lit and shot in the dark, but it’s still clear enough to tell what’s going on. There’s Minkyung, straddling the lap of the pretty girl from the band. Yaebin. That was her name. The lap-straddling isn’t the most audacious part though—it’s the fact that the two of them seem to be in the midst of a passionate kiss. 

“You took a picture! Fucking pervert!” Minkyung shouts, giving Kyungwon a light slap on the arm. 

Kyungwon just giggles.

“It was so funny. I was talking to Wonwoo, and he was like, mentioning that Mingyu was at the party, you know? So I was going to go find you, and do my best-friend-damage-control thing, and instead I find you making out with a girl!” 

Vague memories touch the back of Minkyung’s mind—the feeling of soft lips, of someones hand in her hair, and her face gets redder. 

“Delete that photo right now, bitch.” She reaches her hand out for Kyungwon’s phone, who practically somersaults off the bed to keep it away from her.

Kyungwon uses one arm to hold the phone up in the air.

“I think it’s good you’re exploring your sexuality.”

“Don’t you have work to go to?” Minkyung furrows her brow, hand dancing in the air to try and grab Kyungwon’s phone. The other girl steps back through the bedroom door.

“Indeed, I do. I’m gonna let you stew in your emotions a bit. Mwah! Love you! Bye! Drink the prairie oyster!”

Minkyung flops back onto the bed, and reaches for the glass by the windowsill, giving it a little sniff. Gross.

She sets the glass aside and stares at the ceiling. 

Why did she kiss a girl? She was expecting her big drunk fuck-up to be another wild tryst with Mingyu, or maybe breaking a vase, or getting in another yelling match with Kyungwon. 

Not kissing a girl.

Why was that so weird? She laces her fingers together and rests her hands on her stomach. 

It wasn’t that girls kissing girls was a bad thing. She wasn’t homophobic or anything. Her best friend was bisexual. Everyone at school was gay.

But her? Kissing a girl? It shouldn’t be right. Was that a bad thing to think? 

Was it just drunk desperation that made her do it? She tries to fish for memories, some sort of explanation, but she can’t think of anything. All that seems to come up is the taste of coconut chapstick and a poignant weed smell. 

Whatever. It was just one crazy night. It shouldn’t mean anything. 

She sits up in bed, gazing out the window over the downtown landscape, watching the small people below hurry down the street. Grabbing the glass, Minkyung takes a quick gulp of the disgusting concoction Kyungwon had made her, and observes a flight of birds pass its way by, the taste of egg in her mouth. 

•••

Saturday mornings are the best. They’re when Wonwoo wakes up early and makes the rest of the house breakfast. It’s a kind of present for the band, to celebrate the show the night before, and usually a hangover cure, as everyone else is usually too fucked over from the previous night to do anything (Wonwoo doesn’t drink. He went straight-edge a year ago, after seeing some of his friends do it). Even if Yaebin wakes up with a pounding headache, she knows that Wonwoo is in the kitchen, making waffles. 

When she wakes up that Saturday morning, she realizes her other two roommates are already up as well. Nayoung is sitting on the floor, typing a paper for school on her laptop, and Eunwoo is playing games on her Switch, taking up the whole couch. Yaebin wonders how they can manage to be staring at screens so early in the day, but she supposes they just probably didn’t have that much to drink the night before. There’s a bit of a headache eating away at Yebin’s brain herself, but it’s not as bad as it’s been some nights. 

Nayoung looks up from her computer. 

“Good morning, Yaebin.”

“Good morning!” Eunwoo practically yells. “I heard you got some last night.”

“Ew. Don’t put it like that. I kissed a girl, that’s all.” Yaebin crosses her arms and leans against the doorway to the living room. 

“Waffles are ready!” Wonwoo shouts from the kitchen.

“Fuck yeah!” Eunwoo throws her Switch down onto the couch and bolts out of her seat, shoving Yaebin out of the way and taking a dramatic leap over Nayoung’s laptop.

People constantly ask Yaebin if it’s hard or strange living with her bandmates. But to her, her three roommates aren’t just bandmates. They’ve all known each other since middle school. The band was just an excuse to hang out together when Nayoung was forced to go to private school by her parents, and they couldn’t see her at school anymore. Eunwoo was already drumming, ordered to take lessons by her therapist, who thought it’d be a good way to take out some of her bottled up anger. Wonwoo decided to play bass, because at 15 he just thought it was the coolest instrument, arguing that bass players were usually the coolest members of the band. Yaebin already liked writing stories and poetry in her free time, and figured the jump to songwriting couldn’t be too hard (She was wrong, but with some practice, she learned). Nayoung picked up rhythm guitar, mostly to fill a needed hole in the band—and she was never opposed to learning something new. 

When the time for moving onto college came, and Wonwoo wanted to take his passion for photography to art school, they all accommodated. Yaebin, Eunwoo, and Nayoung all went to the university downtown, to study creative writing, theater, and computer science respectively, and Wonwoo took his studies to the nearby Pledis College of the Arts, to major in photography. The house together was the obvious step from there—and the band only progressed. The punk thing was mostly Yaebin and Wonwoo—Wonwoo took an interest in the punk scene from his art school friends, and Yaebin honestly just needed a new way to get anger out, creatively. Nayoung and Eunwoo were mostly just along for the ride. 

“Yaebin, how many waffles do you want?”  
She blinks, and realizes Wonwoo is talking to her, standing in the doorway between the kitchen and the living room. He’s got the stupid gimmick apron Eunwoo got him for Christmas on (the one with the little cat face on it), but he still somehow looks cool. 

“Oh, um, yeah. Sorry, I spaced out. Two is good.”

“Still recovering from last night?”  
“A little bit.” Yaebin presses the palm of her hand to her temple as she walks into the kitchen.

Eunwoo is already scarfing down her plateful, sitting across from Nayoung, who’s neatly cutting hers into little pieces. Wonwoo hands Yaebin a plate, and she scoots into an empty chair at their tiny table situated in a corner of the kitchen. 

“Yaebin got laid last night.” Eunwoo says, accentuating the ‘laid” part, mouth still full of waffle.

“Really?” Wonwoo sits down at the last open chair, raising one eyebrow.

“Do I have to say it again? Not laid. I just kissed a drunk girl is all.”  
“But it was like… hot. Very steamy. There was tongue involved.” Eunwoo waves her fork around. “You never kissed me like that.”

“Eunwoo.” Nayoung says firmly. “Remember the rule. We don’t bring up Code YE in here.”

“Sorry.” Eunwoo replies, tone laden with sarcasm. 

Yaebin sighs. 

Code YE is a sensitive spot in the household—the cursed period from their senior year of high school where Yaebin and Eunwoo dated. It drove Nayoung and Wonwoo crazy, and the constant fighting between the couple themselves seemed to make the relationship between all four of them worse. But that was a part of the past, and they had moved on, for the most part. Just sometimes, certain talking points would hit a sore spot. 

“Well.” Nayoung stands up from her seat, collecting her plate. “I’m going to go study at the cafe.”

Eunwoo swallows her last obscenely large piece of waffle. Yaebin sometimes worries that she might choke, because of her refusal to cut things into smaller pieces, but its one of her friends strange habits that fills her with an odd warmth. Scooping up her plate, Eunwoo waves to Wonwoo and Yaebin. 

“I’m going to rehearsal.”

Both her and Nayoung dump their dishes in the sink, clearly eager to get out of the house, and both exit the kitchen, off to their respective daily activities. 

Yaebin stares at her plate of waffles, still feeling like the sleep-fog of just waking up is washing over her.  
“You want some coffee?” Wonwoo asks.

“Yeah, that’d be great.” 

She thinks about the night before as she listens to Wonwoo fiddle around with the French press (he still drinks coffee, he’s not that hardcore of a straight edge), and she especially thinks about that girl. That drunk girl that gave her the compliments that made her heart drop into her stomach, that girl with the sparkling eyes and the foxlike face.

“Wonwoo… Do you know a girl named Minkyung?”

Wonwoo turns around with surprise. 

“Um, yeah. She goes to my school.” He hands her a cup of coffee, sitting back across from her. “Why do you ask?”

“She’s the one I… you know.”

“Kissed?”

Yaebin’s face feels hot.

“Yeah. Uh.... what’s she like?”

“I mean, I don’t know her that well. She’s in my color theory class. She makes like, paintings and stuff.” 

Paintings. Yaebin pictures Minkyung, her delicate hands handling a paintbrush, perhaps tucking her hair behind her ear and biting her lip as she studies her subject, and almost swoons.

“I mean she’s kind of weird.” Wonwoo continues. “Her ex-boyfriend started kind of going hard on her during critique the other day, calling her pretentious and stuff.”

“What’s ‘critique’ again? I don’t speak Art School.”

“Where you put your art up and the other students and the teacher comment on it.”

“Oh, ok.” She thinks about Minkyung’s tears, her asking Yaebin if she was ‘pretentious’, and wonders if that’s why. “That’s pretty rough. She seemed really upset.”

“It was bad. Hard to watch. Mingyu’s a bit of an asshole sometimes.”

“If she has an ex-boyfriend, is she... you know?”

“Straight?”

Yaebin takes a sip from her coffee, a bit flustered.

“Yeah.”

“I mean, most girls like that are, but if she kissed you... who knows?”

“So I might have a chance?”

“You’re seriously chasing after the drunk girl from the party? Really?”

“Like I have a chance with any other girls. No one likes me. This girl... I don’t know. She...” Yaebin pauses, idly playing with some locks in her hair. “She made me feel special. Wanted, ya know?”

“Your taste in women never ceases to astound me.”

“I know that’s an insult, but I’m taking it as a compliment. Listen... do you have her number?”

“Minkyung? No.”

“What about her Instagram?”

“No.”

“Facebook?”

“No.”

“Do you know anything about her? At all. Anything at all.”

“Well... one thing.” Wonwoo says. “She works at a Baskin Robbins.”

•••

Minkyung has begun to truly regret accepting Kyungwon’s invitation to go out the previous night. 

As she stands behind the counter, eyes practically glazing over as the stares at the tubs of candy-colored ice cream, her head seems to be screaming. She just wants to sleep, chase away this pervasive headache (and at this point she’s not even sure whether its a hangover headache or a stress migraine), and maybe yell into her pillow a little. 

“You good?” her coworker Seungkwan asks.

Minkyung bends one of the plastic tasting spoons between her fingers.

“Honestly, not really.” 

“Hungover?”

“Yup.”

“Did you make some regretful drunk decisions last night?”

Minkyung narrows her eyes at Seungkwan, and the spoon in her hand snaps in half.

“How do you know that?”

“You called me. It was mostly nonsense, but you said something about how you kissed a girl, and that you were lonely, and that you were going to take up Juuling to get, and I quote, ‘a really badass nicotine addiction.’ Then, I think I heard the noise of you throwing up.”

“Oh god.” Minkyung leans forward, hitting her head against the top of the glass ice cream case—her Baskin-Robbins-issued uniform visor popping off her head and falling to the floor. “Did I really do that?”

“It was a voicemail. I can play it for you.”

“I think I’m good. Oh my god, I am so sorry.”

Seungkwan gives her a cheeky grin. 

“I thought it was funny. But I am definitely keeping that shit, for blackmail purposes.”

Minkyung lifts her head up, and gives Seungkwan a playful punch in the arm.

“Ugh, you’re the worst.”

“You love me.”

The bell on the door to the shop rings, and the pair behind the counter look up in surprise. Barely anyone has come in today—cold fall afternoons aren’t really the best time for ice cream. 

A girl stumbles in, breathing heavily like she just ran a long distance. She places her hands on her knees to catch her breath.

“Um… Welcome to Baskin Robbins? How can I help you?” Minkyung says, shuffling to the register.

The girl holds a finger in the air, face still obscured by her hair. 

“One second, let me catch my breath. I just biked here really fast.” 

She looks up, and her eyes meet Minkyung’s, and they both gasp. 

She recognizes the face immediately. It’s the face that even underneath all the alcohol-addled memory fog, still stands out clearly. 

Yaebin. 

“…Yaebin?” she says, finding her heart beat oddly fast.

The other girl suddenly looks flustered (not in the ran-out-of-energy way, but in the just-saw-my-crush way), and she stands up straight, putting her hands in the pockets of her denim jacket, like she doesn’t know what to do with them. 

“Uh, hey, Minkyung.”

‘Is this the girl?’ Seungkwan mouths at her, looking both shocked and enthralled. Minkyung makes a shooing hand motion behind the counter where Yebin can’t see, and he stands up straight and gives a knowing nod.  
“Going to go take my ten minute break now, just like I was planning on doing, exactly at this moment!” he proclaims loudly, running into the back of the store, hurriedly untying his apron.

Yaebin is still breathing heavily as she approaches the counter. 

“I, well… I went to every Baskin Robbins in town to try and find you.” She pauses, seeing the confusion on Minkyung’s face. “I mean, uh… well, my roommate, he said you worked at Baskin Robbins—because he knows you, like you go to school together, but he didn’t have your number, so then I biked all over town because I don’t know how to drive, and I asked them if you worked there, and if you did if I could have your schedule, but they all said no, and oh God, this is creepy isn’t it. I’m a creep. I’m so sorry. I should leave.” 

There’s an awkward silence for a few seconds, and Yaebin looks so ashamed of herself. 

Suddenly, Minkyung starts laughing. 

It’s the pure ridiculousness of the situation. Her life feels so incredibly down in the dumps currently, just a ball of garbage slowly rolling down a hill, gathering more garbage as it goes, and the only person that even cares about her is a stranger from a stupid party she shouldn’t have even gone to.

Yaebin looks at her, face flushed red.  
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I knew you would think this is stupid, I’m sorry, I’m embarassing, forget it.” She starts to back up and out of the store, and Minkyung hiccups away the last of her laughter, and notices that Yaebin is crying. Shit. 

“Wait, fuck! Yaebin! Come back. I’m sorry, I’m sorry for laughing. I’m just having a weird day, I’m sorry. I don’t think you’re creepy or stupid, I… I think you’re actually really sweet.” Yaebin sniffles, walking a little closer to the counter again. Did Minkyung hit a tender spot by laughing? Goddammit, she always does this. “It’s really nice of you to um, go out of your way to find me again. You make me feel very special, and no one else really does, and everything is ridiculous right now, that’s why I laughed. Do you want uh… free ice cream or something?”

Yaebin gives a small hiccupy giggle.

“I felt so bad when I went into the other ice cream shops that I was bothering them, so I kept buying ice cream and eating it, and I actually feel a little sick right now. But thank you, really.” She grabs a napkin from a napkin dispenser on a nearby table, and blows her nose. “You really don’t think I’m creepy?” 

“Nah. I’ve done worse. But why? Why would you put in all the effort?”

“Because… you’re really pretty, and nice, and I like you a lot… and you make me feel special too, and um…. I wanted to give you my number. I wanted to ask you on a…” Yaebin’s voice suddenly gets very small and nervous. “On a date, I guess. So we could have a proper introduction.” 

Minkyung feels a pit drop in her stomach. She isn’t fully sure why, but she wants to say yes. She wants to say yes to going on a date with this goofy girl so badly. But it isn’t her, she says to herself. It can’t be—she’s straight. She likes boys, not girls. No matter how cute this one girl is, no matter how much she wants to hold this one girls hand or kiss her again, it can’t happen. Her brain feels like it keeps autocorrecting itself, when she wants it to say something else, and it makes her guts twist into knots. 

“Ah, Yaebin…” she says, nervously, fishing in her back pocket for a crumpled receipt, “I… don’t like girls like that. I mean, us kissing, I’m just—like I said, everything’s really hard for me right now. And I’m lonely. What happened, it was a mistake. I didn’t mean to lead you on. That was wrong of me.”

Yaebin looks crushed.

“W-wait.” Minkyung continues, and she starts scribbling a number on the crumbled receipt. “I want to give you my number. I think you’re really cool. We could hang out, as friends? If you wanted. I want to spend more time with you.” She slides the receipt across the counter, and her hands are shaking, like she’s the one asking Yaebin out. 

Yaebin smiles, but it’s a weakened one, one of someone who’s lived through something like this many times. 

“Yeah, I can do friends.” she says. She bends down to the ground, picking up the visor off the ground. “Is this yours?” She leans across the counter, placing it on Minkyung’s head. Minkyung’s heart skips a beat for a split second at the display of domestic affection. “I should go home. Let’s hang out… soon.” 

Later in the evening, Minkyung rides the bus home wracked with a strange feeling of guilt and confusion. That night, she texts Mingyu. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "straight edge" is a subculture of the hardcore punk scene. those that are straight edge don't drink or do drugs, some take it super seriously. ive met a lot of straight edge punk dudes during my time in art school so it feels right to include in this fic


	3. sweet sweet midnight

Eunwoo always arrives at rehearsal an hour before it starts.

When her fellow theater kids arrive, they always ask her what she’s doing in the theater so early. She says she likes the quietness of the space, that it’s easy to study in, and they tease her because, well, Eunwoo really isn’t a ‘studier’. But they take her excuse anyway. 

In reality, Eunwoo never studies. Instead, when she arrives at the performing arts building, she enters from the back, into the shop, where all the sets are kept. She quietly weaves through leaning planks of wood and fake trees until she finds a doorway. That doorway takes her to a staircase, which leads up into a long cluttered hallway filled with lighting equipment, and to another staircase. That staircase takes her to the booth. As an actor, Eunwoo never goes in the booth. It’s where the lighting and sound people sit, in front of their fancy and complicated boards full of all sorts of mysterious switches and dials that she doesn’t dare to touch. Instead, Eunwoo grabs a rolling chair, and secretly watches the fairy dancer. 

The fairy dancer has never noticed her. Whenever Eunwoo arrives, she’s there, but if she notices anyone come in, she quickly leaves. She’s a beautiful girl—her long, dark hair always seems to be magically flowing in perfect waves, and the gentle slope of her nose results in a perfect profile when she turns her head. 

Eunwoo calls her the fairy dancer because she looks like a fairy, so delicate and soft, and, well, she’s always dancing. The first time Eunwoo had spotted her, she was grabbing something from the booth for the director, who was down in his office. The theater was empty, except for the stage, where twirling and leaping, was a beautiful girl in a white dress. There was classical music, playing from a phone speaker, which Eunwoo could just barely hear from her position in the back. Engrossed in this mysterious dancer’s movements, she could barely tear herself away. So she came back the next day, then the next—it became a routine. 

Sometimes, the girl played music through her phone. Sometimes it was through a bluetooth speaker. Sometimes, she had headphones on. The last was strangely Eunwoo’s favorite. There was something about watching her fairy dancer’s movements, and imaging what they could be synced to, that excited her. The fairy dancer danced to everything—hip hop, ballet, a few times even tap. She even did partner dances by herself, twirling around to a waltz onstage, holding her invisible partner tenderly. 

Eunwoo is pretty sure she’s in love with her.

Today, the girl puts some music on over her phone, and does some warmup stretches first. It feels oddly intimate, and a sense of anxiety washes over the one audience member—it feels ok to watch her dance, because she’s performing, but is this crossing a line? 

She imagines, one day, she’ll enter from stage left, and with a deep bow, ask the fairy dancer to dance with her. In her fantasy, she’s got on a tailored tuxedo, and the dancer is wearing a flowing ballgown, one that spins around her like a glorious parachute. Maybe she even does one of those lifts she sees in movies, holding the dancer in the air. 

A voice suddenly cuts through her thoughts. It’s not a yell, more of a firm statement, and it comes from down below, but the acoustics of the theater quickly carry it to Eunwoo’s ears.

“You can come down and dance with me, you know.”

Eunwoo sits up straight. Right at the center of the stage, her fairy dancer is looking right up at her and into her eyes. 

“Or, if you want to watch a little closer, you could come sit down here.”

“I—I wasn’t watching, I swear, I’m sorry. I was just up here, um…” Eunwoo quickly picks a roll of duct tape that’s lying on the table. “Fixing stuff.”

The girl onstage chuckles. 

“You’ve definitely been busy 'fixing stuff’ up there for the past two months.” 

Eunwoo’s cheeks burn hot.

“But if you’d like, you could come ‘fix stuff’ down here, and maybe tell me your name.”

Hurriedly, Eunwoo picks up her backpack, and runs to the other exit to the booth, the one that doesn’t require a secret pathway, and just leads down to the theater directly. As she jogs down the stairs through rows and rows of red seats, she tries to calm her fast-beating heart. 

“I’m Eunwoo.” she shouts, careful not to trip over her own feet.

“I’m Jieqiong.” says the girl on the stage as Eunwoo gets closer. The fairy dancer—or Jieqiong, now, sits down, dangling her legs over the edge of the stage. “Why have you been watching me dance?”

Eunwoo looks up at her. She’s even prettier up close—her eyes sparkle, her thin lips curl into a welcoming smile, and the scoop of her t-shirt shows off her elegant collarbone.

“Well, um, you’re really good at it. I’m sorry, its creepy of me, I know. I can leave.” 

Jieqiong braces her hands and hops down from the stage, landing on the ground and standing in front of Eunwoo, putting them at eye level. She cocks her head.

“I don’t mind you watching me. I just think it’s funny that you thought you were being all secretive about it.”

“I thought you couldn’t see me in the booth! I can never see who’s in the booth when I’m onstage!” 

“That’s because the lights are off, dummy. You leave them on.” Jieqiong giggles. “But you’re a performer, huh?”

Eunwoo fiddles with the buttons of her jacket, looking down, too embarrassed to make eye contact with the other girl. 

“An actor. And I sing sometimes. I’m a theater major.” She looks up into the dancer’s gentle eyes. “Why haven’t I seen you around the performing arts department before?”

“Oh, I’m not a performing arts major. I’m a computer science major.”

Eunwoo’s jaw involuntarily drops.

“What? But you’re so good! I wish I could dance like you do.”

“You’re very nice.” Jieqiong tosses some hair over her shoulder. “But it’s just a hobby. I only come here when no one’s around. I used to dance in high school, but now, it’s just for fun.” Out of nowhere, she reaches out, grabbing Eunwoo’s hand firmly. “Why don’t you dance with me?”

Feeling choked up on her words, heart tumbling like its inside of the dryer, Eunwoo shakes her head.

“N-no, I can’t. I don’t dance.”

“Why not? You’re in the musicals, aren’t you?”

“How do you know that?”

“You’ve been watching me, I’ve been watching you back.” There’s a mysterious glint in Jieqiong’s irises.

“Well, I dance in those, but... I do lots of practicing, and I’m not very good at it. That’s why I don’t get the leads. I can’t dance like you do. You do it without even thinking. Like... a second nature.”

Eunwoo has almost entirely forgotten Jieqiong is still holding onto her hand, and she lets out a gasp when the other girl tugs it, starting to walk towards the stairway to the stage.

“Why don’t I teach you?” Jieqiong says. 

“Teach me?” Eunwoo has to slightly jog to keep up with Jieqiong’s tugging on her arm. The music is still playing from Jieqiong’s phone—a soft jazzy piano tune—she had forgotten it was there.

“Teach you how to dance.” Jieqiong leads her up the steps and onto the empty stage. 

“You can’t just… teach someone to dance.”

“Yes you can, idiot, that’s what a dance class is.”

“But you can’t just teach me to dance.”

“Who says I can’t?”

Jieqiong twirls around, and rests both her hands on Eunwoo’s waist. She starts slowly stepping back and forth, guiding Eunwoo around the stage, swaying their bodies from side to side. The less experienced dancer struggles, her clumsy steps trying their best to keep up with Jieqiong’s fluid energy. 

“What are you doing?”

“Making you dance, silly.” Jieqiong lets go of Eunwoo’s waist, and steps backward like she’s gliding on ice. “Let’s make a deal. You come here, tomorrow, same time, same place. Pick a song. Any song, your favorite song. Then I... will show you... how to dance." 

•••

Nayoung has been spending half her monthly paycheck on coffee alone. 

It’s not because she’s been up late studying, or that she has a caffeine addiction. The coffee is for someone else entirely. 

It had started, simply enough, at Nayoung’s favorite coffee shop. 

Airplane Coffee was the one place she always went to to study. It was quiet, and peaceful, always open late—and most importantly, hidden in a little alleyway. It seemed Nayoung was the only student from the university that knew about it. The most important thing, however, was that her roommates didn’t know about it either. It’s not that she hates spending time with her friends, but sometimes, she desperately needs some time away from the house. At home, it’s loud, and energetic, a constant tornado of mood swings and noise. The coffee shop was quiet. The barista, Seungcheol, knew her name, and they chatted, but it was just pleasant chatter, meaningless conversation. She could sit and work, and no one would bother her with a pointless argument about which Death Grips album was the best. 

The day everything changed was one cool autumn Monday. 

Nayoung was finishing up a paper before her computer graphics class, when the pair of bells hanging off the door sent a light jingle through the mostly empty shop. Most days, she had earbuds in, but today was different, due to extraneous circumstances, she was headphone-less.

(The extraneous circumstances were that earlier that morning, Eunwoo’s pet hamster had gotten out of its cage, and chewed Nayoung’s headphones to pieces.) 

Lacking the distraction of music in her ears, she looked up to see who was entering. It was a girl, long black hair falling down her back, wearing a beret and tiny heart-shaped earrings. It took her a second, but Nayoung recognized her—it was Zhou Jieqiong. 

Jieqiong was another computer science major in Nayoung’s year. They had multiple classes together, and they sometimes exchanged notes or shared a quick conversation, nothing big. There were a couple things Nayoung knew about Jieqiong. First of all, she was gorgeous. Both boys and girls seemed to fawn over her, but she was, surprisingly enough, single. Second, she was extremely smart. She seemed to know everything about her field of study, and the professors always used her work as an example. Finally, she was always in her own little world. Nayoung often watched her space out during class, doodling in the corners of her notebooks, jolting back to reality whenever the professor called on her. 

Jieqiong walked up to the counter. Her cheeks were flushed red—probably from the cold autumn wind whipping at the tree branches outside.

“Can I get a 12-ounce mocha to go?” Jieqiong asked Seungcheol. 

Nayoung wondered if her staring was creepy, but her classmate didn’t seem to notice—she was too busy digging through her messenger bag, trying to find cash.

“Ah, fuck. Shit. I left my wallet at home.”

Nayoung doesn’t know why she did this—she can’t remember what spurred this moment of kindness that seemed to come from some small place within, but she stands up. 

“I’ll pay.” she said.

Jieqiong turned around. 

“Oh my gosh, Nayoung! Hey!” She tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. “Seriously, though, you don’t have to do that.” 

“No.” Nayoung reached into her jacket pocket, pulling out a five dollar bill. “Let me. I know how hard classes can be without coffee.” She handed the five to Seungcheol, who nodded and started on the drink wordlessly. 

“You are literally my savior. Thank you so much.” Jieqiong gasped with excitement, and she wrapped her arms around Nayoung, taking her by surprise. Nayoung isn’t usually one to accept affection from almost-strangers, especially hugs, but she let this one slide, mostly because it’s making her heart rate jitter and shake out of control. 

“You’re uh… welcome.” Nayoung’s arms awkwardly hung at her sides, unsure what to do, but she strangely thinks she’s enjoying this, this burst of affection from a nice, pretty girl.

Nayoung doesn’t get crushes, and she doesn’t really flirt either. There was one girl at her Catholic all-girls school, Huihyeon, who had quietly kissed her under the stairway in the math wing. Nayoung had thought she was in love for a moment, but then it passed, and she ignored it to focus on her studies. She wasn’t like Eunwoo, who fell in love at the drop of a hat and chased down girls at every chance. 

But Jieqiong—Jieqiong was different. Something itching at Nayoung wanted to impress her, give something of herself away. 

So, the next day, before the coding class they had together, she went to the coffee shop again. 

“One 8 ounce black coffee, and one… 12 ounce mocha.”

Seungcheol raised an eyebrow at her, but he didn’t say anything. 

When Nayoung brought the coffee to class that morning, Jieqiong squealed with excitement. The dopamine rush that came with making this random girl happy started becoming an addiction. Before every class, Nayoung would run to the coffee shop. She stopped even buying coffee for herself—that had become no longer important. She didn’t know why she was doing this, but the more coffee she bought, the more Jieqiong gave to her. Longer conversations, sitting by her in class. Waving to her in the hallway, giving small smiles even from far away.  
Jieqiong constantly insisted she didn’t need the coffee. She could afford it on her own, she’d say. But when Nayoung asked if she wanted to be left alone, if she was being creepy, Jieqiong would shake her head. 

“I like your attention.” she'd say, lips curling into a little smile. “I just feel bad giving you nothing in return.” 

“You give me plenty in return.” Nayoung had said softly, trying not to make eye contact. 

By the second week of coffee gifting, Jieqiong started bringing coffee too. A black coffee, how Nayoung liked it. She wasn’t sure how the other girl knew her order, but she didn’t ask. It became an exchange—a swapping of cups. Sometimes it was in the hallway, sometimes it was before class. It became part of a routine, a strange unexplained dance she was completing with Jieqiong. 

Today, Nayoung runs into the coffee shop—she’s a little late for class. Seungcheol already knows what she’s ordering, and he starts on the drink as Nayoung digs into her bag for her wallet. He watches her for a moment, a look of concern in his eyes. 

“This one’s on the house.” he finally says after a couple moments spent lost in thought. 

“What?”

“It’s on the house. You don’t have to pay.”

“No, no. I’ll pay.”

“Nayoung, seriously. Take the free coffee.”

“Why?”  
“I’m worried about you.”  
“I spend this much on coffee already, why do you care?”

“I’m worried, because I am scared that you are a robot, and this is what you think flirting is and this is how it works.”

Nayoung’s brows knit together.

“What do you mean?”

“You keep buying coffee for this girl. Just ask her on a date.”

“I don’t—I’m not—I’m not flirting.”  
“Well, that’s obvious.”

“I mean, I don’t like her like that.”  
“Sure, keep telling yourself that.” He hands her the mocha with a shrug. “Listen. Just ask her to hang out. Have a real conversation. Spend some time together. You don’t get girls just by buying them coffee.”

“I don’t need your advice, but thank you.”

However, Nayoung leaves the coffee shop that day, head whirring in thought. When she approaches Jieqiong with the coffee, the other girl gives her a big grin, handing Nayoung her coffee in return. Nayoung takes a huge breath in.

“Would you like to hang out sometime?” she suddenly blurts out. 

•••

It’s been three days since Minkyung gave Yaebin her number.

But Yaebin still hasn’t found the courage to call her. 

It’s not a fear of rejection. She’s already been rejected. It’s not that she doesn’t want to be friends with Minkyung, either. She wants to see her again.  
She’s just nervous. Minkyung is so pretty and kind, and Yaebin wants to make a good impression, not make an absolute fool of herself, even if she has no chance with her.   
Yaebin gazes at her phone, which sits on the coffee table in the middle of the living room, and sighs. 

“Dinner is served!” Wonwoo loudly yells from inside the kitchen. Yaebin grabs her phone, shoving it in her pocket, running into the kitchen, and taking a seat. Eunwoo and Nayoung are close behind, emerging from their respective rooms. 

“Spaghetti again?” scoffs Eunwoo as she scoots into her chair. She looks kind of sweaty, Yaebin notices, and she’s wearing some sort of workout gear—track pants and a t-shirt.

“You make dinner then if you’re so mad about it.” Wonwoo says nonchalantly, unfolding his napkin and laying it on his lap. 

“I think it’s great, Wonwoo.” Nayoung says, using the metal tongs to yank some noodles out of the pot on the center of the table. “I really appreciate you making dinner every night.”

Wonwoo twists his noodles around his fork. 

“Someone gets it.”

“Pssht, whatever.” Eunwoo says, then pauses when Nayoung glares at her. “I mean… sorry.”

“So, how was everyone’s day?” Yaebin interjects, attempting to break apart the tension.

“Pretty good.” Nayoung shrugs.

“All right.” Wonwoo hums. 

“Good!” Eunwoo smiles.

Yaebin looks at Eunwoo suspiciously. 

“Have you been working out?” she asks, gesturing to the athletic clothing her roommate has on. 

“What?” Eunwoo replies. “No way.”

“…Then why are you so sweaty?” Nayoung inquires.

“I’ve been, um… taking dance classes.”

“What?” Yaebin gasps. Eunwoo was never a dancer. She sang and danced in musicals, but she was far more passionate about singing than dancing, and usually ended up in smaller roles with less dancing in them. 

“Why would you do that?” Nayoung asks, genuinely curious. 

“What do you mean? I need to be a better dancer for the musicals anyway.” Eunwoo looks down at her plate, avoiding eye contact with the rest of the table. “But for your information, I was just upstairs, practicing.”

“Well, I think it’s good you’re stepping out of your comfort zone.” Wonwoo says with a shrug.

“I still don’t believe you’re dancing just to get better at it. You’ve got an ulterior motive here, I know it.” says Yaebin.

Eunwoo folds her arms and leans back in her chair.  
“Okay, maybe the instructor is kind of cute…”

“Ha! I knew it!”  
Wonwoo snickers, but he doesn’t say anything, just gets himself another serving of salad.

“Where are you taking these?” Nayoung asks. 

“With a student at school.”

“I see how this is.” Yaebin smirks. 

“Oh? And how is your little love story going?” replies Eunwoo.

“Not a love story, and it’s fine.”

“I think you should text her.” Nayoung says firmly.

“No, no way. I can’t. It’s weird. She’ll think I’m weird.”

“She’s the one who gave you the number, isn’t she?”

Yaebin looks down at her hands, which are fidgeting on her lap.

“Yes, but…”

“Just hang out once. Get a fresh look at the situation. If you really think it’s weird, just drop it. It’s not like she goes to the same school. You’re not gonna see each other unless you really are trying to.”

Yaebin sighs. 

“Yeah, I guess so. It’s just hard to get over the nerves.”

“I mean, if you don’t want to, you don’t have to.” Wonwoo says. “She’s kind of… weird. I don’t know.”

“All art school kids are weird, though.” says Eunwoo. “Like you, loser.”

Yaebin tentatively reaches into her pocket for her phone. 

“I’m ok with weird. I live with all you nerds.” Yaebin says.

“Points made.” Wonwoo says. “I’m just saying, she doesn’t have a great history.”

“It’s not like they’re arranging their marriage.” Nayoung says to him. “They’re just hanging out one time. None of us have a good history. We wouldn’t want anyone to judge us like that.”

The table is silent for a second as the heaviness of Nayoung’s words sink in. 

“You’re right. Sorry.” Wonwoo murmurs. 

The sound of cars passing down their street hums in the distance.

Yaebin inhales a determined breath.  
“I’ll do it. I’ll text her.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i am aware that irl eunwoo is a Fantastic dancer this is simply for fic purposes ok thanku 
> 
> send me questions and stuff at my curiouscat if u want!
> 
> https://curiouscat.me/lesyebin


	4. you were in the air

There is nothing that feels quite as debasing as waking up in Mingyu’s apartment. 

So when Minkyung wakes up there Monday morning, it takes two seconds for an absolute sense of anxiety to wash over her. 

It had taken a day for Mingyu to even reply to her text asking if he wanted to hang out, and so Minkyung had to go to his apartment on a Sunday of all things. Walking up the stairs, she had considered the implications of going to have sex with your ex boyfriend to feel better about yourself on God’s day—but after Mingyu offered her a gross beer from his fridge, she had forgotten the moral dilemma entirely. 

She wasn’t even sure why she kept doing this. 

She didn’t enjoy the sex, or even the kissing, or the foolish compliments Mingyu stumbled out while he tried to take her shirt off. 

It was like biting her nails, or picking at her skin, she supposes. A brief moment of an uncomfortable sensation that gave her a few seconds of relief from a creeping anxiety.

She was kissing a boy, like normal girls do. This is what girls did. They kissed boys, and they had sex, and it was a normal part of their lives. A routine. 

When lit by the darkness of a desperate evening decision, Mingyu’s apartment is passable. However, in the morning light, it makes Minkyung’s stomach crawl. It’s not necessarily that it’s the apartment of a gross boy in college. It’s that everything in it seems to remind Minkyung of her bad choices, of her bad relationships, her bad relapses into bad habits. 

Mingyu’s paintings are all over the place. It stinks a bit like spray paint and weed and she hates it. Is it even allowed to spray that shit inside? What does his landlord think? 

His skateboard leans against the leftmost wall, and Minkyung thinks about the countless hours she had to spend filming him for the tricks he would put on his Instagram. There was one nice time where he tried to teach her how to skate, but when she fell over, he laughed, and she had started to cry. 

Half the clothes in his closet aren’t even on the hangers. Is that her flannel? She looks back at one of his paintings, a whirling mess of gross green and brown sprayed on a piece of plywood. He says she’s the pretentious one. Maybe he should look at himself sometime. 

Her whole body aches, and she sits up a little. She’s been smashed against the wall in the process of sharing a bed with Mingyu. As Minkyung sits up to grab her shirt off the floor, the door to the room swings open, and in comes the man himself. 

“Oh hey, you’re up.” he says, and Minkyung self consciously covers her chest as if he hadn’t just seen it last night. He seems in a hurry, digging through pile on the floor until he finds a single sneaker underneath a sweatshirt. 

“Where are you going?” Minkyung asks. 

“To class.”

Minkyung blinks, and turns to look at the clock next to the bed. 

10:07 am.

She was supposed to have an 8am class.

Mingyu plops down on the ground and begins tying his shoes.

“Why didn’t you wake me up?” Minkyung demands, starting to wrangle her shirt over her head.

“You were sleeping.”

“I have an 8 am!”

“Sorry.” He reaches into the pockets of his jeans, pulling out a long black rectangle. The Juul. 

As he places it between his lips, Minkyung starts rubbing her temples.

“I slept through my most important class.”

Mingyu doesn’t say anything, and just blows a cloud of cucumber-scented nicotine fog into the air. 

“Are you seriously Juuling inside right now?” Minkyung says.

“What, is it against the law or something?”

Minkyung leans back, letting out an exasperated sigh.

“See, this is what I’m saying when I say you’re full of yourself.” says Mingyu. “You’re so judgmental.”

“I just wanted you to fucking wake me up for class!” Minkyung snaps, trying to hold back tears. 

“How was I supposed to know when your classes are?”

“Because we dated for a year, dumbass! And I keep ending up here, every weekend, somehow! You should know I always schedule my 8 am classes for Mondays.” Her voice wavers slightly, and the crack in it shatters her confidence even more, as she imagines Mingyu complaining to his friends about how shrill she is. He’s done it before, hasn’t he?

“Just skip the class.” Mingyu shrugs, and Minkyung wants to scream, because he’s being so nonchalant about it. “Also, you were the one who texted me first.” 

She doesn’t reply, too busy focusing on keeping back the sting of tears that threaten to crash into her like a wave. 

“…Sorry.” Mingyu says, barely looking in her direction. “I, uh, gotta go.” He stands up, and exits out the door, leaving Minkyung alone in his room.

•••

“Bad day?” Seungkwan asks.

Minkyung is currently sitting on the shop’s counter, taking plastic taste test spoons and snapping them in half, creating a small little pile of broken fluorescent shards next to her. She looks up at her coworker, who is still adjusting his uniform after just arriving. 

“Yes, kinda. Fucked up and missed class the other day.”

“I have a feeling it’s more than that.” Seungkwan says. “Is it the boy?” 

“Ugh, how do you know.” Minkyung hops down from the counter, scooping broken plastic into the palm of her hand and dropping it in the trash can.

“I have my ways.” 

“I don’t know why I keep doing this to myself.” Minkyung says, leaning on the counter. “I just keep making myself suffer.”

“Because you’re lonely.” Seungkwan remarks sagely.

“I am not!” She breaks eye contact with him, looking out the front window of the store, watching for someone she knows won’t be there.

“What about that girl from the other day?” 

“Seungkwan, you know I’m not interested in girls that way.”

“Hm.” He doesn’t say anything directly, but something about the strange smirk on his face seems to say that he knows something that Minkyung doesn’t. “Well… You’re not just lonely romantically. You need friends.”

“I have friends!” Minkyung insists. “I’ve got Kyungwon, and you, and…” She trails off, looking down at her feet.

Seungkwan just raises an eyebrow at her. 

“Well, anyways, it’s not like she’s texting me back.” she murmurs, and as if on cue, the phone in her back pocket buzzes. 

It’s a text from an unknown number.

_sup this is yaebin the girl that cried in your baskin robbins_

_sorry_

_that’s a bad way to introduce myself_

_do you want to hang out?_

_maybe tomorrow_

_at 2?? at my place ?? ill send my address hold on_

Minkyung doesn’t know why, but reading the messages, her stomach starts to tumble with excitement. She types back a nervous “yes!” with a thousand exclamation points attached. 

“Who’s that?” Seungkwan tries to lean over her shoulder, but she pulls the phone away from him.

“None of your business!”

“It is so my business. I’m appointing myself as your official emotional support system, therefore I have rights to see who you’re texting.”  
“It’s the girl, whose name is Yaebin, by the way. We’re going to hang out.” Minkyung says, putting away the phone in the pocket of her jeans. “See, I don’t need your help. Everything works out on its own.” She narrows her eyes at him. 

Seungkwan gives her a haughty smirk.

“Sure.”

•••

Yaebin taps the end of her cigarette, letting the ashes fall solemnly to the wet pavement, before dropping the whole thing on the ground, crushing it under the heel of her boot. She tucks her phone back into her jacket pocket, breathing in the damp fall air. She’s nervous. Will Minkyung actually be cool with hanging out with her? How will she be able to just be friends when she’s staring at Minkyung’s pretty face? She shakes her head, pushing open the door to the store to get back to her shift.

“You doing ok?” Vernon asks, positioning a copy of Tyler the Creator’s “Flower Boy” under the “Now Playing” sign.

“Yeah.” Yaebin’s eyebrows crease. “Why do you ask? 

“You’re smoking, and you only ever smoke when you’re stressed out.” Vernon says observantly. He pulls the record out of its sleeve, softly blowing away any dust as he places it on the record player. He turns to Yaebin and shrugs. “Just saying.”

“Okay, you got me.” She drags the wet soles of her boots across the store’s doormat and walks behind the counter. “Listen… I’ve got a question.”

“Shoot.” Vernon replies, dropping the needle onto the record.

“Have you ever liked a girl that didn’t like you back? But then she still wanted to be friends?”

“Something like that.”

“How do you get over that?”  
“It just sort of happens, I guess. Eventually feelings pass. What? Do you have a crush?” He smirks. “Is it that girl you were making out with at the show?”

“Oh god.” Yaebin puts her face in her hands. “Why do even you know about that?”

“I went to your show, and then I went to say hi, and you were... you know.”

“Fuck.” Yaebin mutters. “Yeah, it is her.”

“But you were kissing her? And she doesn’t like you?” 

“It’s complicated.”

“Sounds like it.” 

“She asked for a kiss, but she’s just lonely. And straight. She doesn’t like me sober.”

“I don’t know man.” Vernon says. “If she’s the one that wanted to kiss you, that sounds pretty not-straight to me.”

“Girls are weird.”

“If you really think she doesn’t like you, then you’ll just have to adjust if you want to stay friends. It just kind of has to be that way. But eventually, you’re just friends, and it’s ok.”

Yaebin sighs.

“I guess so.” 

The music playing from the record player swelled, filling up the empty store. Yaebin closes her eyes, breathing deep to chase the nerves away.

•••

Using the address Yaebin had gave her, Minkyung found herself in a calm residential neighborhood. She was a little jealous. Her and Kyungwon lived in one of the scarier parts of the city. Her walks to her apartment usually entailed mystery men yelling at her and the smell of cigarette smoke staining her clothes. Yaebin’s neighborhood was like where Minkyung grew up—tenderly cared for front yards, little bushes dotted with roses, big tall trees shading the sidewalk. It was quiet, the occasional car whirring by, but it was like a pleasant little haven hidden just off some of the main city streets. 

The house she currently was standing in front of was small, with a tended-to garden. A bike leans on the front porch, one Minkyung recognizes from the coffee shop encounter a couple days earlier. Carefully, she walks up the gravel pathway to the door, feet crunching on the ground. She stuffs her hands in her pockets, not sure what to do with herself, really. Making new friends isn’t really something Minkyung does. She has her people, and she’s fine with that. Yet—she’s the one reaching out to this girl, this random girl she met at a party. It’s so very odd. 

She raps her fist against the door. 

It takes a few seconds, but it swings open, and she’s faced with someone she never thought she’d see.

“Jeon Wonwoo?” she sputters out, trying to stay cool.

A small voice at the back of her head reminds her of Kyungwon’s comment about “the girl from Wonwoo’s band.” Fuck. That’s Yaebin’s roommate?

Minkyung and Wonwoo are on fine terms. They barely know each other, really. He’s sort of faint acquaintances with Mingyu, in that they sometimes go skate together. He’s an okay photographer. They have some classes together. She always has an itching feeling he doesn’t like her very much. She’s getting that same feeling as he stares at her from the other side of the doorway.

“Uh, hi.” he says. “Yaebin!” he calls back into the house. “Your friend is here!”

“How… are you?” Minkyung asks, listening to the sound of footsteps approaching behind Wonwoo.

“I’m good. You?”

“Good.” 

“Minkyung!” a feminine voice says, and Wonwoo backs up, letting Yaebin’s head poke through the door. “You came!”

Minkyung chuckles. “Well, of course I did.” 

“Come on in.” Yaebin is dressed down, in a flannel over a t-shirt, with some sweatpants, hair in a messy braid. She gives a big, eager smile so infectious that it even makes Wonwoo smirk a little. 

Minkyung has to admit, she’s a little jealous of Yaebin’s house. There’s a lot more space than her tiny apartment, where her and Kyungwon constantly argue over tiny fractions of space to work on various projects. She could imagine herself painting on Yaebin’s floor, able to spread everything out and focus on some new masterpiece. 

Yaebin twirls around as they stand in her living room. 

“Welcome to my humble abode.” 

There’s a definite cozy feeling—house plants everywhere (some which look like they haven’t been watered in a while), a television set that looks like it might’ve been stolen from the dump, a record player accompanied by speakers and a huge shelf full of records, some mildewy and some still in their plastic shrink wrap. 

Wonwoo ducks out of sight without saying anything, heading into another room and closing the door. 

Minkyung nervously shuffles over to the couch, starting to remove her laced-up Doc Martens. 

“Did you get here okay? I can, um, take your coat.” Yaebin says. 

Minkyung shuffles out of her coat and makes eye contact as she hands it off. Yaebin is smiling, but she looks nervous too. 

“Uh, yeah, it was fine. This is a really nice neighborhood.” 

“Do you want something to drink?”

“Water?”

Yaebin nods, moving to the kitchen, leaving Minkyung to sit and stare at all the other details of the living room—a guitar leaning against the couch arm, a cold half-full cup of coffee on the table, the stacks of textbooks by the window. How many people even live here? She can hear Yaebin humming from the kitchen, barely masked by the sound of running water. 

Yaebin comes back in, handing her the glass with a little grin. 

“Let me put some music on.” Yaebin kneels next to the shelf of records, tugging at some colorful covers, brows furrowed as she tries to figure out what to play. “Anything you want?”

“Ah, no.” Minkyung smiles a little bit. “You pick. I really don’t have an interesting music taste. I bet you could pick far better.” 

“You don’t even know me.” Yaebin replies, kind of sheepish as she pulls a record out of its sleeve, lifting the plastic cover over the record player and placing it down. Minkyung watches her pinch the needle between two fingers, tongue flitting between her lips as she focuses on lining it up just right before she drops it. She’s kind of adorable, all focused like that. She breathes out a sigh of relief as a gentle guitar strum breaks from the speakers, and smiles proudly. Minkyung doesn’t know Yaebin at all, but for some reason, she can just sense that she’s someone who cares, who really tries to put tenderness and effort into things. She admires that. 

“Do you study music?” she asks, partially from a need to get a conversation going, partially from genuine curiosity. 

Yaebin plops down on the couch.  
“I’m a creative writing major.”

“Oh! Really? What do you write?”

“Stupid poetry, mostly. And some stories, and stuff, sometimes. What do you study?”  
“Painting.”

Yaebin gasps.  
“Can I see? Your work, I mean.”

“Oh, sure.” Minkyung digs her phone from her pants pocket, and Yaebin eagerly scoots over. “It’s like portrait work and stuff, and some abstract things too. I’m trying to experiment right now.” She finds the only piece she’s been proud of lately, a self portrait in muted ceruleans and azures. 

“I see you’re in your blue period right now.” Yaebin chuckles. She pauses, and reaches over, using her fingers to tap on Minkyung’s screen to zoom in. “You’re really good! The detail on this is amazing!”

“Thanks!” Minkyung says, as normally as she can muster. Yaebin’s really close, and their arms are brushing together. It should be fine, but for some reason, it makes Minkyung’s heart get all twisty. “What about your poetry?” she asks. 

Yaebin leans back, breaking eye contact. 

“Ah, it’s nothing. It’s sort of stupid. I don’t really… show it to everyone.”

“It’s ok, I get it. When you’re comfortable, I’d love to read some.” Minkyung gives Yaebin a hopeful smile. “I’d really like to get to know more of you.” she adds. Are her palms sweating? Her palms might be sweating. 

“Noted.” Yaebin replies, giving that big smile again. Then—it falters. “Sorry if I’m acting weird.” she stutters out.

“No, you’re not.” Minkyung hastily replies. “I’m sorry if I am, I’m just not used to making new friends. And you’re really cool. I’m just awkward.” She gives Yaebin her best smile. “I mean…” she pauses. “We’ve already been, um, pretty intimate, huh? So, like, we’re already past that point.” She laughs, and finds the back of her neck heating up in embarrassment.

Yaebin looks flustered. 

“Yeah, actually, you’re right. I guess we did… you know.”

“Kiss?” Minkyung says, a weird sense of confidence rising in her stomach. There’s something in her that enjoys seeing Yaebin flustered. A little smirk spreads across her cheek, and Yaebin laughs. “Are you playing another show anytime soon?” Minkyung asks, the music in the room swelling with some female singer’s melodic voice. 

“This Friday. Tomorrow, I mean. We play at house shows almost every Friday.”

“Wow. Cool. What’s your name?”

“My name?” Yaebin stares at her, confusion all across her face. “Yaebin? I guess.”

“No, silly.” Minkyung laughs, placing a hand on Yaebin’s thigh (and pretends she doesn’t feel Yaebin slightly jump at the touch). “Your band name.” 

“Oh! White Rabbit.”

“White Rabbit. That feels fitting. You’re sort of rabbit-like yourself.” Minkyung says, looking at Yaebin’s little nose. 

“Eunwoo always says that.” Yaebin huffs, crossing her arms, but she’s grinning. 

••• 

Yaebin doesn’t really know why they decided to smoke, but it happened. It was partially because of the story she had told Minkyung about Eunwoo trying to make a bong in their ceramics class, one that had Minkyung doubling over with laughter (and God, she had the best laugh), and now they were here. Sitting on Yaebin’s front porch, passing a joint back and forth, swinging on the porch swing while a record plays muffled from inside the house. 

Yaebin is having kind of a hard time. She’s having so much fun, it’s not like she’s miserable or anything, but she just keeps feeling things for Minkyung. She tries to chase that all away, think about non-romantic things like the burp Eunwoo let out a few nights ago during dinner or the terrible SoundCloud rap her cousin had sent her a month ago. Yet Minkyung keeps being so pretty, so sweet, so flirty—and it just makes Yaebin feel gross inside, like she’s creeping on some nice girl who just wants to be friends. When Minkyung’s hand brushes her knee or she stares at her intently to show that she’s listening, it’s not flirtation, she reminds herself. It’s just friendship, and it’s honestly idiotic to assume two girls can’t just be friends. What is she, a horny straight guy?  
“Do you smoke often?” Minkyung asks. 

Yaebin snaps back to reality, back to the girl right next to her. 

“Um, only when I’m stressed. I used to, a lot.” The fall sunset is lighting Minkyung’s face so beautifully. She looks even prettier than ever, but that’s probably just the weed talking. “Do you?”

“When I’m stressed… But I’m always stressed these days.” Minkyung slumps a bit in the swing, kicking her feet against the porch. “It makes me more, like, loose, you know?” She wiggles her arms around and Yaebin laughs. 

“It seems you’re pretty susceptible to the charms of marijuana. It takes way more hits for me.” 

Minkyung smirks. 

“Kyungwon says I’ll be a heroin addict one day.” 

“That would be a sight to see.” 

Minkyung passes the joint back to Yaebin. 

“What’s the dumbest thing you did high?” 

“Ordered like a hundred plastic crawdads online. They showed up a week later, and I was so confused. I don’t even know why I did it.” 

Minkyung bursts into another fit of laughter. 

“Oh my god, what did you even do with them?”

“Eunwoo and I started hiding them around school. We called ourselves the Crawdad Bandits. What’s yours?”

“For me? Good question. A couple months ago, Kyungwon and I snuck into school and spray-painted a dick on my ex-boyfriend’s painting. He had critique in the gallery the next day. It was horrible, he still doesn’t even know it was me.” 

Yaebin gapes, having no idea Minkyung could be so mischievous. 

“What!” 

“Yeah.” Minkyung covers her mouth with her hand. “It’s so terrible of me.”

“No, I bet he deserved it.”

Minkyung looks at her—is it lovingly, or are her pupils just big from the weed—and bites her lip. 

“He did.” she says, and she chuckles softly, looking past Yaebin’s head and out into the empty yard.

“So your biggest high mistake wasn’t kissing me then?’ Yaebin says, it spilling out before she can stop herself, immediate regret bringing hot shame to her whole body. “Shit—I mean—I shouldn’t say that.” 

Minkyung’s mouth opens a little in surprise, then snaps shut. She hands the joint back to Yaebin. 

“It wasn’t a mistake.” she firmly says, looking right into Yaebin, like she can see past the irises and into the most intimate of Yaebin’s thoughts. “I’d do it again.” Then she leans in close, and Yaebin notices how heavily she’s breathing. She places a hand on Yaebin’s shoulder. “Right now, even.”

Oh God, Kim Minkyung is really going to be the death of her. 


End file.
